‘I think I do frighten you, mademoiselle.’ Laurent smiled at her sympathetically.

‘I think that perhaps I have a lot to learn about Paris, monsieur,’ she replied.

‘I’m sure that’s true. So, maybe you can see me as your instructor in the ways of the avant-garde. Ah, I see the two wanderers have returned,’ he said, glancing over her shoulder through the window. ‘The professor is smiling – always a good sign.’

Bel watched as the two men entered the studio, still deep in conversation. Laurent busied himself collecting the remnants of lunch and piling them onto a tray, and Bel hurriedly added her wine glass to it, worrying that Heitor would disapprove.

‘Senhorita,’ Heitor said when he saw her. ‘I apologise for keeping you so long, but Professor Landowski and I had much to talk about.’

‘Not at all,’ Bel replied quickly. ‘Monsieur Brouilly has been explaining the . . . fundamentals of sculpture to me.’

‘Good, good.’ Bel could see Heitor was distracted as he immediately turned back to Landowski. ‘So, I visit Florence next week and then travel on to Munich. I will be back in Paris on the twenty-fifth, after which I will be in contact.’

‘Of course,’ Landowski agreed. ‘You may feel that my ideas and style are not suitable for your needs. But whatever you decide, I admire your bravery and determination to execute such a difficult project. And I would certainly enjoy the challenge of being a part of it.’

The two men shook hands, and Heitor turned to walk out of the atelier, with Bel following suit.

‘Monsieur da Silva Costa, before you leave, I have a favour to ask of you,’ said Laurent suddenly.

‘And what might that be?’ Heitor asked, turning towards him.

‘I would like to sculpt your ward, Mademoiselle Izabela. She has the most exquisite features and I want to see if I can do them justice.’

Heitor paused uncertainly. ‘I admit I’m not sure what to say. It is a very flattering offer, is it not, Izabela? And if you were my own daughter I would feel more able to answer in the affirmative. But . . .’

‘You have heard the stories of the many disreputable Parisian artists, and what they expect from their models.’ Professor Landowski smiled knowingly. ‘But I can assure you, Monsieur da Silva Costa, that I can vouch for Brouilly. Not only is he a talented sculptor who I believe has the capacity to be a great one, but he is right under my roof. Therefore I can personally guarantee mademoiselle’s safety.’

‘Thank you, professor. I will talk to my wife and contact you when we’re back from Munich,’ agreed Heitor.

‘Then I will wait to hear from you,’ said Laurent. He turned to Bel. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle.’

Both Bel and Heitor were silent on the journey home, lost in their own thoughts. As the car skirted Montparnasse, Bel felt a thrill running through her veins. Even though her impromptu lunch with Laurent Brouilly had unsettled her, on many different levels she felt truly alive for the first time in her life.